Meph, the Pet Skunk (American Woodland Tales) by Jean Craighead George & John George

Author:Jean Craighead George & John George [George, Jean Craighead]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Juvenile Fiction
ISBN: 9781453224472
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2011-08-09T06:00:00+00:00

That afternoon Molly took the pail and went into the garden to weed. The hot sun beat down on her head and she worked slowly in the heat. She thought about the man from the city and the things he had spoken of: the plumbing, the walls re-papered, an electric stove. But how would she feel knowing this was not really her home, that she and Seed and Sycamore were just tenants. And yet, this might be the answer to everything, for she didn’t want to leave this land where they had spent their lives. She rose and looked across the fields to the blue mountains. A bluebird sat on the fence post near her head and watched her nervously, a green worm dangling in its mouth as it flicked its head brightly to look at her first with one eye and then the other.

Sycamore dug the shovel into the crusted layer of the droppings in the chicken house and tossed a load into the wheelbarrow. He was so excited by Mr. Crocket that he had forgotten the money. Not until he saw his mother leave the kitchen and walk toward the garden did he remember the empty jar. He must get the money back. He dropped the shovel, walked out the door, and crossed the yard to the house. He brushed the flies from the screen door, opened it, and slipped into the kitchen. For some moments he listened. The house was cool and smelled of summer, of the wind blowing through starched curtains, and apple pies cooling on the shelves. A fly buzzed against a windowpane, and the boards in the living room cracked. Sycamore jumped at the sounds, and began to lose his nerve. Then, he made up his mind, strode across the floor, climbed up the shelf, and carefully put all the money back.

The screen door squeaked and Sycamore looked around. His mother stood in the doorway looking at him. Sycamore felt cold and hot all over, and the sweat made his hands slippery. He just hung there and stared at her. What could he say? How could he explain what he was doing? For many moments they looked at each other. Finally Molly walked to the kitchen table and sat down on one of the wooden chairs.

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